Me and You
by melissaeverdeen13
Summary: With Christmas coming up, all Jackson and April wanted was to have a day filled with innocent traditions. But of course, things don't turn out the way they planned.


It feels like the morning has been going on forever as I sit in the bathtub, even though it's barely 9am. Snow is falling lightly outside the bathroom window, and I'm leaning my cheek on my shoulder as I look out and watch it come down.

Harriet had woken up countless times during the night, and every turn was my turn. Well, it wasn't really, but it had felt that way. When it was Jackson's turn to get up, he'd make those sleepy sounds he always makes and roll his shoulders, and once he left the room I'd just lie there with my eyes open, staring at the ceiling and feeling guilty. So, I had to get up too. I'd walk into the nursery and he'd be doing perfectly fine with our baby; our hungry, poopy or just plain fussy baby, and he'd look over at me with the same expression each time. He'd tell me to go back to bed and at the same time know that I wouldn't.

My eyelids blink heavily as Christmas music plays softly from a different room in the apartment. The baby is down for an early nap, and just moments ago I'd been falling asleep while sitting up at the breakfast bar over a cup of yogurt, so Jackson insisted that I go take a nap too before we go to the Burke Museum later. I'd gone into our bedroom – the one that we'd only just recently taken to sharing again – and laid there with my eyes open. A repeat performance of last night. Luckily, the warm water I'm immersed in now is much more effective in helping me relax.

It feels like I only close my eyes for a few seconds when I hear the bathroom door creak open in the back of my mind. Slowly, I open my eyes and glance towards the sound to see Jackson standing in the doorway, smirking at me.

"What?" I ask, my voice groggy.

"Falling asleep in the tub?" he asks, leaning on the counter that holds both sinks. "We have a perfectly good bed just feet away, you know."

"I know…" I say, fighting to keep my eyes open. "All I was doing was laying there and waiting for her to wake up next. Every time the little…light sensor thing on the baby monitor would go up or I'd hear her breathing, I'd wake back up again. I had to come in here."

"Not safe," he says, inching closer. "You could drown. You know, if you fall asleep in the tub."

"Shut up," I say, the first hint of a smile making its way to my lips. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure about that?" he asks, feigning concern. He strips off his shirt and his eyes are glinting while he's standing above the tub in just sweatpants. "I could come in and make sure you're all good."

"I assure you," I say, waving him off. "I'm fine." I keep shoving my hands at him, but I start to giggle as he gets closer.

"I do hear you, but I still don't believe you," he says, shaking his head and stepping out of his pants and underwear. "I think I'm gonna have to come in there."

"Jackson…" I trail off, but then sit up. The tub is big, but still I'm not sure there will be room enough for us both. "The baby!"

He flicks his head towards the baby monitor on the counter that I'm seeing for the first time. "We'll hear her," he promises. "Watch out. Here I come."

"Jackson, Jackson, Jackson, wait…" I say, scrambling to make room as he lowers himself into the tub on top of me. The water gushes out around us and splatters to the floor, and my mouth opens in a wide grin as I cover my face with my hands. "Look what you did!" I squeal, pointing to the mess.

"It's just water, it'll dry…" he says, dipping his face below my jaw so he can kiss my neck. "Don't worry about it."

I skim my fingers down his damp back and let my eyes flutter shut as his tongue darts out against my pulse point. "You don't give up, do you?" I ask, and he just murmurs some sort of response against my skin.

Eventually, I pull his face upwards so I can kiss his lips. "You love me for it," he finally says, smiling against my mouth.

"Yes," I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck and resting one of my feet against his calf. He keeps one arm braced on the back of the tub so he won't crush me, and the other one holds my hip beneath the surface of the water.

My heart is beating in my throat, through my chest plate, seemingly all the way down to the tips of my fingers and toes. Every inch of my body feels like it's been struck alight with his touch, and as we kiss my mind is foggy with thoughts of only Jackson. It's only when a familiar little cry splits the equally as foggy bathroom air that we're both jolted out of the reverie that we've created.

"Oh, shit," Jackson mutters, pulling himself out of the tub and off me. "She didn't last long. I'll go get her. You wanna rest for longer, take a real nap?" He swipes a piece of my auburn hair away from my eyes. "I promise I won't bother you this time."

I shake my head and stand up out of the tub too, taking a fluffy purple towel as he hands one to me. "No, that's okay," I say. "I'll go with you."

"April…" he says, his tone mildly scolding. "I can get her on my own."

"I know," I say.

"And I can do it at night, too."

I sigh and tip my head from side to side. "I know that, too. That's not the reason I get up."

My feet make soft sounds and leave wet footprints on the carpet as we cross to Harriet's nursery. "Then why?" Jackson asks.

I shrug one shoulder as I tuck the towel more securely under my armpit. "I feel…I don't know, guilty if I don't. Or something."

"Or something," he mutters under his breath, picking up our baby girl. "Hi, baby. What's up?"

"Think she's hungry," I say. "I'm gonna go put some clothes on and be right back to feed her."

"April, I…" Jackson starts, but drops it.

"What?" I prompt.

He shakes his head, bouncing Harriet as she continues to wail. "Nothing. Go get changed."

As I sit in the rocking chair and nurse Harriet, Jackson packs the diaper bag to take with us to the museum. "I don't know how much of this she's going to take in," I whisper, eyebrows raised in an amused manner. I keep my voice down as Harriet nurses so I won't startle her. "She's six months old." I run my fingers over the baby's dark, downy hair and involuntarily smile at our child. "How much can she possibly learn from a museum?"

Jackson plops the diaper bag down by the front door. "She's going to grow up to be a genius like her daddy," he says. I roll my eyes. "We gotta start her early."

"Like her _daddy_ ," I scoff under my breath. "Like her mommy."

"Her, too," Jackson says, coming into the nursery and standing behind the rocking chair. He smiles down at the two of us and then kisses the top of my head. "She almost ready?"

"About there," I say, and a few moments later Harriet detaches and burps after getting her back patted. "Alright, we're ready. Let's go."

When we park the car at the Burke Museum, I get out of the car and look up at the big building. "I haven't been here since I was a kid," I say, opening the back door of the car to get the baby. "Crazy. Did you get the…" I make gestures towards my chest, and Jackson knows what I mean without me having to finish the sentence.

"Yeah," he says, and lifts the baby carrier that can be worn on either the chest or back. "I can carry her."

I lift Harriet out of her car seat and cradle her with one arm as I adjust my purse with the other. "You sure?" I ask. "If you don't want to, I can."

"Of course I want to," Jackson answers while clipping the carrier onto his chest and tightening the straps. Once it's all set, he says, "Put her in for me."

As I carefully place the baby into the contraption on Jackson's chest, I say, "Well, maybe we should take turns."

"Sounds good," he says, and wraps his arm around my shoulders as we walk inside the building.

We walk through the building through the dinosaur exhibit, Africa exhibit, and onto the one full of fake animals that look real, locked in glass enclosures. Included are skeletons and fact plaques about each animal listing what part of the country they're from, who their predators and prey are, and so on and so forth.

I mosey in behind Jackson while glancing at everything I can see so far in the room. "I'll take the baby now," I offer, extending my fingers. "Gimme, gimme."

He smirks slightly and then lifts Harriet out of the carrier. We do the awkward dance of unhitching the contraption from his chest and then adjusting the straps to fit my much smaller frame, and he jostles me substantially while making sure that nothing has the possibility of coming loose. "Feel good?" he asks, tightening once more.

I pretend to roll my eyes around in my head in a jumbled way. "If you'd stop rattling my brain around," I joke, then tug on the front of it. "I think it's good." He gently lowers the baby onto my chest, and I kiss the top of Harriet's head. "Hi, baby," I whisper, and then hold onto her little hands.

We walk past a couple enclosures that have wild dogs, dingoes and hyenas, and then move onto the primates. On the wall, it says 'Open the curtain to discover the world's strangest primate,' and I dramatically push aside the curtain to find myself standing in front of a mirror with red lettering that says 'who is this primate?' on it.

"It's you!" I say excitedly, pointing at Harriet in the mirror. "My strange little primate." I giggle and then meet Jackson's eyes in the mirror as he appears behind us, but stay talking to our daughter. "God created you to be so special and so strange and all ours."

Jackson chuckles while looking at the renderings of the ape skeletons slowly forming into human skeletons. "To think if we'd been alive a million years ago, you could've been born our little monkey."

I look at him sideways as we keep walking. "What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, moving Harriet's arms up and down casually.

"Well, we were all monkeys at one point," Jackson says. "We came from monkeys."

I snort. "Well…"

"What?"

"I get what you're saying, but it's just…" I shake my head. "I don't wanna argue."

"I'm not arguing, are you?"

I give Jackson a pointed look. "No…" I say, narrowing my eyes.

"So what do you wanna say?" His voice is lowered since the museum is generally quiet, but there's still a sharp underlying tone.

"I didn't come from a _monkey_ ," I say. "Neither did you, and neither did this little nugget. She came from us, we came from our parents, God created us."

He grits his teeth; I can see his jaw clench through his cheeks. "There's scientific evidence that proves how our species got to where we are from where we were millions of years ago. There's a reason I'm standing here talking to you in coherent sentences instead of shrieking and throwing poop."

I widen my eyes and flatten out my eyebrows. "Okay. Wow."

We're silent for a minute; a heavy, tense blanket of quiet air sits between us before either of us speak again. "You're smarter than that, April," he finally says.

I stop in my tracks across from an enclosure with four antelopes inside it in varying positions. "Having faith does not make me stupid," I hiss through my teeth.

"You're smarter than denying scientific evidence is what I mean," he says.

I purse my lips and bite the inside of my cheek. Harriet is happily gurgling away on my chest, sticking her hands in her mouth. "I'm not denying it," I say. "I'm a surgeon. That would be…" I shake my head. "But what I'm saying and _you're_ not is that God created those first monkeys or whatever. But he also created Adam and Eve, so what did they evolve from?"

He doesn't respond immediately, but his jaw is still set tight. After a while, he lets a long gust of air from his nose and responds with, "Maybe…they're just the first ones, you know, created in…" He gets flustered and rolls his eyes at himself, leaving his sentence unfinished.

"I'm not denying that evolutions exists, dummy," I say finally, linking his arm. "I get what you're saying. But a random burst of monkey-like DNA cells didn't combine and make this." I cup Harriet's cheeks gently in my hands and Jackson looks down at her, his face softening instantly. "She was made for us."

"Technically from us," he says.

"That too," I say.

As we walk out of the animal exhibit a while later, Jackson brings it up again. "You know, technically a lot of her DNA does match a monkey's," he says.

I can feel my eyebrows furrowing. "Really?" I ask.

He looks to me for a quick second. "Oh, yeah," he continues. "I thought you-"

"I don't mean really, like keep talking. I mean really, you're bringing it up again? You're deliberately picking a fight." I shake my head and adjust my shoulders; Harriet's weight has started to get heavy.

"Let me take her," Jackson offers, so I lift her out of the carrier and she starts to fuss.

"She needs a change before we do anything," I say, holding her with her head over my shoulder as I scan the surroundings for a bathroom. Harriet's fussing starts to escalate into distressed-sounding cries that make my heart pump faster and my face heat up. "Where's the freakin' bathroom around this place?" I snap, my voice rising a bit in pitch.

"Calm down," he says, using his taller vantage point to find it quicker. "Over there. Let's go."

We walk together to the family restroom, and Jackson locks the door behind us after we head in. I lay Harriet down on the changing table and quickly change her, tossing the dirty diaper to Jackson so he can throw it away. As usual, we work like a well-oiled machine, without using any words because I don't want to fight with him while Harriet is still on the brink of crying.

"She's probably hungry, too," he says, after she's all dressed again. He clips the harness on himself and I jostle him around like he did to me, then slip the baby in it.

"Yeah, I realize," I mutter, and shift my arms to cross over my aching breasts.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asks, matching my pace as we walk out of the bathroom.

"Well, I don't mind feeding her here," I say. "Find a quiet place somewhere. We don't have to leave just for that. I've done it at the hospital before."

"Here isn't the same as the hospital," Jackson says. "Have you seen everything you want to see?"

"I don't know," I say. "Have you? Or did you want to go to the exhibit where they talk about how silly the Bible is and how blind faith is for idiots?"

He closes his eyes and stops walking so abruptly that I almost run into his back. "Don't," he says. "I came here to have a nice day with you and now you're the one picking fights."

"So you admit that you were picking a fight a second ago," I say.

"No, April!" he says, clenching his fists at his sides. "I'm just talking to you. Can't we talk for two minutes without arguing?" I give him a sideways glance but don't say anything in response.

"We should get Harriet's coat on her if we're going to leave," I say, picking it up off my arm.

"If you're not ready to go, we don't have to," he says. "I want to talk to you about this."

"We are talking," I say.

He grumbles something under his breath and collects himself before speaking again. "April, I mean it."

"Just drop it, okay?" I ask, lifting the baby out of the carrier. "This is something we're never going to agree about. Ever. And right now, I don't feel like talking about it anymore."

He sighs and unclips the harness, helping me get the baby's chubby arms into the sleeves of her tiny coat. Once she's all bundled up, we get our own coats on and stand at the glass doors looking out, trying to find the car before we go out and brave the weather.

"It's snowing harder," I say, holding our daughter close.

"You're right," Jackson replies. "Ready?"

I nod and we hurry out to the car with the baby huddled close between us, sheltered from the snow until we get the back door of the car open. Jackson cranks the heat once he's in the driver's seat, and I sit looking out the window with my chin rested in my palm.

As we pull out of the parking lot, I feel his hand on my thigh. It's a familiar feeling, but one that I never get sick of. He squeezes it with assurance, more for himself or for me, I'm not sure. I glance away from the window towards him, flash a small smile, then turn my head back to watch the snow as we drive.

When we get home, Harriet is fast asleep in her car seat. We shut our doors as quietly as we can and then open each side to the back as we gather everything we need to bring inside.

"Daddy, you wanna grab the bag and I'll grab baby?" I whisper, meeting Jackson's eyes over our sleeping child. He nods with a smile and helps me by unbuckling her. I lift Harriet out of her seat as gently as I can, and luckily she stays breathing deeply as I situate her in my arms.

I nudge the car door shut with my hip and Jackson walks in the house ahead of me, opening every door before I get to it.

"I'm just gonna go lay her down," I whisper, ghosting my fingers over the baby's hair. I carefully brush the snow that landed on her coat off to the floor; blankets and blankets had started coming down as we got closer to home. "Do you want to…" I shrug. "Do something Christmassy? Bake?"

He chuckles. "You want me to bake with you?" I take a little bit of my bottom lip between my teeth and nod excitedly. "Okay," he concedes. "Okay, I'll bake with you."

"Okay," I say. "I'll be right back." I lay Harriet down in her crib after taking off her jacket, and then make sure the baby monitor is set before I leave her room.

When I get out to the kitchen, Jackson has already preheated the oven and turned the soft Christmas music back on. I smile to myself because of him, and hang my coat up on the hook by the front door.

"You sure do love those hooks," he says.

"Yes, I do," I say. "I always know where everything is. Coat, keys, you name it. I never have to rush around in the morning like someone I know." I walk over to lean on the breakfast bar, my tangent only getting cut off with the feel of his arms locking around my waist. I turn my head as I feel his lips first on my shoulder over my shirt, and then on my neck, and can't help but giggle. "What do you think you're doing? We're supposed to be baking."

"We will…" he trails off, one hand moving up to the front of my neck to thrum his fingertips softly against it. "The oven's preheating."

"This is when…" I start to say, but lose my breath when he turns me around and kisses my lips. "This is when the preparation gets done," I say into his mouth, then he moves his lips to my neck again after swiping my hair off to one side.

"Shhh," he says, pushing his hands beneath the hem of my shirt to crawl up my bare back.

I jolt in response to his touch. "Oh my god, your hands are freezing," I say, and push his hands away from me by the wrists. I bring them to my face and blow warm air on them as we lock eyes, then crack up in a fit of giggles. I kiss his palms after I'm done warming them up, and then turn away from him to walk back into the kitchen.

"Okay, we're actually going to bake now," I say enthusiastically. Jackson's lips are red and puffy from kissing me, and I'm sure mine look the same.

"Urgh," he grumbles, but follows me. "What are we making?"

"Gingerbread men, obviously," I say. "Nothing else would be appropriate for Christmas."

"How silly of me," he says, and kisses my hair as he passes behind me to get ingredients out. He squats down in the cupboards, and as he comes up, smacks my butt.

"Hey, watch yourself," I warn, pointing a wooden spoon at him. "Or you won't like what I do with this."

"Or maybe I will," he says suggestively, raising his eyebrows and entwining his arms around my waist.

"Jackson!" I scold, my mouth open in shocked laughter.

We work alongside each other in synchronicity for a long time, and the gingerbread men shapes come out of the oven looking perfect. We sit on the couch while we wait for them to cool, and I curl up alongside him with my head rested on his chest and one hand gripping his opposite shoulder. With his steady heartbeat right under my ear, I let my eyes close while promising myself that it'll only be a second, but when I wake up it feels like I've been asleep forever and yet he hasn't moved an inch.

I take in a deep breath and blink my eyes heavily. "How long was I out?" I ask.

He rubs my back; his hand going up under my shirt and then gripping the part where my side indents inward. "Not too long," he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "The cookies are probably cool enough to decorate now, though."

"Oh, you're right," I say, and then pull myself up onto my knees. I'm about to stand, but my eyes get caught on his and I act on the urge to take his face between my hands and kiss him sweetly, and when I pull away he's looking at me with an expression I know I'll never get tired of. It's how he looked at me after the very first time I did that; outside my hotel room after I punched that guy in the face.

"Let's go see what we can do," I say, and then walk over to where they all sit on the counter. I set out an array of different colored frostings and knives so we'll have all the materials we need, and then sit down at the bar to work.

I have about six cookies done when I hear Harriet crying from her nursery. Jackson lifts his head up and starts to move, but I stop him. "I got her," I say, then gesture down towards my chest. "I got the boobs. Be back."

I go feed the baby, change her for good measure, and then lay her back down. She goes back to sleep almost instantly, and I rejoin Jackson in the kitchen. He's got a smirk on his lips and his eyes are staring daggers down at his cookies like he's suddenly grown intensely dedicated in creating masterpieces.

"What are you up to?" I ask, sauntering over to him.

"Just, you know, decorating," he says, trying way too hard to sound innocent.

"You're being shady, Avery," I say, narrowing my eyes. "I don't know what you did, but I know it was something…"

I keep an eye on him as I sit back down, but as I look around the room I don't see anything out of place. I shrug it off and get back to my cookies, only to realize that the arms have been cut off of the ones I've already done so the shape doesn't look so much like a gingerbread man anymore, it looks more like…

"Penises?! Jackson!" I shriek, and smack his arm. "You are such a child." I scowl at him, shaking my head as I do so. "All my hard work down the toilet. You really are a piece of work. Imagine what your mother would say."

He can't respond to anything I'm saying because he's laughing too hard, doubled over so his forehead is resting on the granite countertop. "I'm – sorry," he manages to squeeze out eventually, after he somewhat catches his breath. "It was too tempting. I couldn't resist."

"I really hate you," I say, pointing a frosting-covered knife at him. I hold up a vaguely-penis shaped cookie and frown alongside it. "Look what you did to this poor little guy."

He starts laughing all over again, and this time I can't help but join in. "They even have…" he wheezes.

"I know!" I say through my giggles. "I see what you did. You're so nasty."

He stands up from his stool and wipes the laughter tears away from his eyes as he walks over to me. "It could be worse," he says. "They could be a lot more anatomically correct."

I pretend to barf. "Stop!"

"I mean, these are at least still vaguely cute."

"That's a stretch," I say. "They used to be cute little men. Now they're-"

"Cute little manhoods."

"Jackson Avery!" I smack his arm repeatedly and he busts up in giggles all over again.

His holds me close as I attempt to frost an untouched cookie and presses his lips to my temple when he slyly says, "Be glad you've only seen mine."

Heat rushes to my cheeks and I bite my lower lip in surprise from what he just said. I open my mouth to respond, but my breath hitches and I close it again, replacing my words with a barely-contained grin.

"What?" he murmurs, his voice incredibly close to my ear. It makes chills run down my spine and a shudder course through my body. He tucks a section of hair behind my ear and kisses the skin leading down to my jaw, and I lean my head to the side and roll my eyes.

"You really don't want me to finish these, do you?" I ask.

"Mm-mm," he says, shaking his head as he continues to kiss my neck. "I really don't."

I run my hands over his shoulders and down his back, outstretching my fingers as widely as I can to take all of him in. From over his shoulder, I catch sight of the Christmas tree and am finally able to put my finger on what's been missing from it.

I audibly gasp, which makes Jackson pull away from me. "What's wrong?" he asks, concerned.

"I figured it out," I say, hopping down from the bar and walking over to the tree. "Candles!"

"Candles," he says, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Yes, yes, on the tree," I say, gesticulating wildly with my arms. "That's what's been missing. You know? I've been saying that there's something just not right with it. I remembered! My tree growing up always had candles on it. It made it look so perfect."

He nods slowly. "Okay. We can buy some tomorrow. I'm just not sure where they'll plug in; we're going to blow a fuse if we shove anything else into that power cord."

I shake my head. "No, no, not fake candles. Real ones."

He opens his mouth, then closes it to shake his head. "Um, no."

I plant on my hands on my hips. "What do you mean, no?"

He stands, then walks over to me. "An open flame? A large, flammable object?" He gestures around the room. "Going up in flames, destroying everything we own, including maybe our sleeping child."

I frown. "You don't have to talk to me like I'm an idiot, Jackson," I say. "Ours at home never caught the tree on fire."

"I don't know how you did it," he says. "But we are not doing that here. End of conversation."

He turns his back and returns to the kitchen, and I raise my eyebrows at the back of his head. "Oh, so the conversation's just done now?" I ask, taking a few steps toward him.

"Yeah, it is," he says. "I'm done talking about it. Sound familiar?"

I recoil from his words and bite the inside of my cheek. "Okay," I say, cocking my head to the side. "Fine."

"Fine," he repeats.

"I just don't see why you can't be open-minded to it," I say, broaching the subject again a few minutes later.

"It's not about being open-minded," he counters quickly, like he was waiting for me to speak up. "It's about not burning down the apartment."

"I said mine at home never caught-"

"Things here are different than things at home!" he says, throwing his arms up.

I look at him with hooded eyes, now gnawing on the inside of my lower lip. "I can see that," I say. I get up from the counter and put my finished cookies away in a Tupperware container that I've had waiting. "I'm going to check on the baby. Then I'm going to bed."

I walk into Harriet's room and peer over her crib, smiling softly at the sight of her little sleeping face. Her arms are outstretched above her and her head is turned to the right; her lower lip moving in and out slowly with a dream. I stroke her cheek softly and say, "Goodnight, baby girl. See you in a couple hours."

I pass Jackson without looking at him and close the door to our bedroom almost all the way, leaving it open just a crack. I don't want to force him out to the couch, and keeping it open that sliver will let him know that he's still welcome, even though I'm frustrated.

I change into my pajamas; silky blue pants with an oversized t-shirt of Jackson's, and then slip under the covers. While resting on my side, I stare at the wall for what feels like hours until he comes in, trying to be as quiet as he can.

After changing, he slides into bed behind me and lets out a long sigh. What I really want is for him to touch me, it doesn't feel right going to bed angry, but he doesn't. When I glance over my shoulder, I see that he's turned on his side too, facing the wall opposite mine.

I turn over and look at the back of his head, willing him to turn around and look back at me. But he doesn't. He stays lying still as the minutes continue to pass, so I make the move that I hoped he would.

I lift my arm and ease it over his side until it's wrapped completely around his torso, and pull his body close to mine. It's rare that I play the part of the big spoon, but I kind of like the way it feels.

"Jackson…" I whisper, my lips ghosting over the back of his neck. I push my hand up underneath the hem of his shirt and run my fingers over his muscles, then kiss his shoulder blade over his t-shirt. "I'm sorry for…" I trail off, then see him lift his head just slightly to show he's listening. "Fighting. I don't want to. I really don't want to."

He rolls over onto his back so we're looking right into each other's faces, with me propped up by my elbow near his armpit. He looks at me with those magnetic blue eyes, reaches up to stroke my cheekbone, and then smiles softly. "I am, too," he says. "Sorry. I don't know why…" He shakes his head. "Over such little things."

"Well, I mean, I don't know that they were little things," I say. "I guess you were right about the fire thing."

He chuckles, not breaking his eyes away from my face. "I guess at your house Jesus kept those candles from lighting your tree on fire," he says softly.

I giggle, then dip my face close to his. "Guess you must be right," I say, then kiss him.

I swing one leg over his body so I'm straddling his hips, then rest my body weight on top of him. He frames my face in his hands as he looks up at me, his face illuminated only by the watery moonlight shining in from the window, and curls my hair behind my ears. "You're beautiful," he whispers, and pulls my head in closer to kiss me.

We get lost in each other for a while and after I lose track of how long we've been kissing, I sit up and rest my back against his bent legs so I can take my shirt off. Underneath it I'm braless, and I don't miss Jackson's eyes grazing over the sight of my naked top half. He grips my bare waist firmly with both hands and smiles deviously, pulling a corner of his bottom lip between his teeth. I feel the urge to cover myself up, but I fight it. "What?" I ask, trailing my fingers up his chest.

"You want to?" he asks, his clear eyes wide and questioning.

"Well, I mean, I'm sitting on top of you shirtless," I say, smiling bashfully. After giggling, I look down at him with a sober expression on my face. "I miss you. And I really want you."

Jackson smiles and sits up so quickly that it jolts me to fall over onto my back. With a surprised squeal, I erupt in a fit of laughter and after stripping off his shirt, he presses one finger to my lips. "Shh, shh, the baby," he urges, his eyes alight with mischief.

"I know, I know," I say, matching the level of his voice. Out of habit, I reach over to the camera baby monitor that's resting on my nightstand and hit the top of it so the screen comes to life. I'm comforted by the sight of Harriet still sleeping soundly, now with her thumb in her mouth. I click the screen back off just in time for Jackson to take me by my waist and toss me down in the middle of the mattress, and I have to cover my mouth to keep my vocal reactions at bay.

"First you yell at me for being loud, then you throw me around like a ragdoll," I say, bending my knees upward and then pushing on one of his shoulders with my foot. "What do you expect?"

"A little restraint," he answers, pressing his lips to the inside of my ankle before setting my foot back down on the mattress. He hovers over my body with his elbows on the outsides of my shoulders supporting his weight, and lowers his head to nip at my earlobe. "I have something I want to use with you," he says. "It fits the holiday mood; I've been waiting to pull it out. Can I show you?"

I pull his head away from my neck so I can look at his face. I'm completely at a loss for what he could possibly be talking about, so I narrow my eyes and run my hands over his short hair. "What do you mean?"

"It's just…" he begins, straining over to reach into the drawer of his nightstand. From it, he pulls out a tube of something that I can barely discern in the low light, but I can see that the label is decorated with stripes to look like a candy cane.

"What is that?" I ask, sitting up slightly.

He can barely contain his grin. "Um…" he says with a laugh. "It's peppermint flavored lube." He twirls it around in one hand and I stare at it, astounded, taking my bottom lip into my mouth.

"I didn't know they made that," I say, then take it from him to get a closer look. "Is this safe? To, you know, go inside?"

He takes it back from me and squints at the fine print on the back. "I'm not sure."

"I don't think flavors should go inside," I say. "Better safe than sorry. Yeast infection…"

He widens his eyes. "Yikes."

"Yeah."

"So do you not…?"

"No, I want it," I say, keeping him from putting it back. I lay down flat on the bed again and look at him suggestively. "Just use it in…different ways." He raises his eyebrows at me. "Be creative."

"Creative," he repeats, then gently pulls down the waist of my soft pajama pants until they're around my ankles and I can kick them off. Then I'm left in only my underwear lying underneath him, wondering what he's going to do next.

He pops open the tube and widens his eyes once he does so. "Smells strong," he says.

"Kind of like toothpaste," I chuckle.

"How about a candy cane," he suggests, and sets it to the side one last time as he pulls my underwear down. After they're off, he picks the tube back up again and squirts two sizeable dots of it on either of my hipbones and smears them in with his thumbs.

"Jeez, that's cold," I say, shuddering. "It's got a cooling agent in it or something."

With my eyes closed, I don't see him do it, but I feel the warm sensation of his tongue press to my right hipbone. I jolt as he closes his teeth over my skin, and feel the muscles in my groin tightening because of it.

He draws two half-circles under my breasts with the lube, and as he deliberately spreads it out, chills run up my spine. What he'd left on my hipbones got spread down to almost all my thighs, and it's starting to feel hot instead of cold like it did before.

He runs his hands down my ribcage, then over my belly as he spreads out the strong-smelling, minty substance, and I start to get concerned as the hot feeling on my legs turns to uncontrollable itchiness. I slip one arm between our bodies so I can scratch, and then notice the heat radiating off my legs that in no way feels normal. His mouth is still making patterns on my torso, though, so I try to ignore it and just itch. But as I dig at my skin, I feel sporadic bumps that had definitely not been there before.

"Jackson…" I murmur, trying not to panic. "Jackson."

"Hmm?" he responds, not breaking his lips away from my collarbone, where he's spread the lube to now. My belly is starting to get the same hot sensation as my thighs, and I know it's only about to get worse.

"Jackson, I think I'm allergic to this," I say, hearing the urgency rise in my voice.

"What?" he asks, out of the side of his mouth. He lifts his head up from my chest and wipes the mint off his face.

"I'm…look," I say, then reach over and turn the light on. I'm scared of what I'll see, and when I finally open my eyes I see that I had every right to be. Everywhere he put the lube is a shocking red color, covered with irritated hives.

"Oh, shit," he says, dismounting me. "Oh, god. Do you have an EpiPen?" He scrambles for the bottle. "Is there peanuts in this? Why would there be peanuts in this?"

I haphazardly pull my underwear back on, but don't know where to go from there. My body is not only covered in itchy hives, but the residue of the slippery lube as well. "Can you get me a wet washcloth?" I ask, sounding relatively calm.

He looks up at me with alarm written all over his face. "Wet wash… how's your throat? Can you breathe? Can you swallow?"

I swallow. "I'm fine," I say. "I just need to wash all this off."

When he comes back with the wet washcloth, I've taken to madly itching. "Stop itching," he says, grabbing my wrist. "You'll make it worse. You know that."

The sensation is overpowering. It feels like my whole body is covered in insects, and I don't have an EpiPen for this because I don't even know what it is. "Jackson," I say.

He sighs. "I know." I sigh now. "We have to go to the hospital."

I grit my teeth. "I don't want to, but…"

"I'm sure we have something there that can just… make this go away. Who's on call? Do you know who's on call?"

I shake my head, trying to think of who might be in the ER. "I don't know, Wilson, maybe?"

"God," he says, trading his sweatpants for a pair of jeans. "What clothes do you want? I'll get them for you."

I wave my hand in the air laxly. "Anything loose," I say, then stand. "Oh, my gosh, this is driving me crazy." I bunch my hands in the air and try my best not to scratch, but it's all I can think about. When I put on the billowy clothes that Jackson tosses to me, the feel of the fabric against my skin, teasing with friction, just makes it worse.

"We need to go, go, go, _now_ ," I say, shoving my feet into my shoes. "Try not to wake up the baby when you get her. I'll pack a bottle just in case she gets hungry. I don't know how safe it is to breastfeed with all this all over me." He nods and I work on packing the diaper bag, and when he comes out with Harriet safely swaddled in his arms, still asleep, I'm ready to leave.

When we get to the hospital, I hobble inside with Jackson's arm wrapped gingerly around my shoulders. The hives have become painful, and it feels like they're all going to burst if I don't get something done to them.

I make eye contact with Jo almost instantly after walking in. "April?" she asks. "Jackson?" She walks over to us and starts cooing at Harriet before realizing she's sound asleep. "It's 1 in the morning. What are you doing here?"

I let out a begrudging sigh and look over at Jackson, then back at Jo, then lift my shirt to expose a bit of my stomach. "Reaction," I say. "We just need to find something for it."

"Oh, god, okay," she says. "Do you wanna just take a bed over there, and I'll-"

"I can find something myself," I insist, trying to take charge and walk towards the supply closet.

"April, let her do her job," Jackson says, quietly because of our sleeping child. "It'll just be easier if you let her do it. You're covered in hives. Just lay down."

I shoot him a nasty look, but eventually concede and lead the way to an empty bed. The ER is mostly quiet, so at least that's a silver lining of being here.

I've just closed my eyes when I hear an all-too-familiar voice next to my head. "So that peppermint lube didn't work out for you, huh?"

I open my eyes to see Alex looking at Jackson with the same old glint in his eyes. I look between them, trying to gauge the situation. "This was _your_ idea?" I ask incredulously, pointing a finger up at him that I'm only now realizing is covered in red bumps. He pushes it away from his face in disgust, and I reproachfully set it back down on my lap.

"Avery asked me how to spice things up. I gave this as a suggestion, but I didn't think you'd get all Typhoid Mary about it." He laughs, and I groan. "Sexcapades. Who'd would've ever thought. You, Kepner." He chuckles again. "From Virgin Mary to Typhoid Mary."

"Hey," Jackson warns, holding the back of Harriet's head.

"Whatever, whatever," Alex says. "Jo's coming back with some sort of ointment that you can slather on to your heart's content and then get out of our hair. We have real patients to take care of."

Once he leaves, I sigh with discontent. "I imagined this night turning out a lot different," I admit. "I didn't want to see the inside of this place on our day off."

"Me, neither," Jackson agrees.

"I'm sorry," I say.

He scoffs. "Nothing to apologize for." He laughs. "April, you can't apologize for having an allergic reaction. It's not like you can control it."

"I know," I say quietly, laying my head down on the papery pillow. Jo comes back with the ointment, and we close ourselves into an examination room so Jackson can put it on me in all the places where it needs to go. He lays Harriet's carrier on the floor with her in it, still asleep, and stands across from me as I sit on the table.

"If anyone should've known better, it's me," he says, carefully rubbing the ointment on my hives as I cringe. "You know, not sprung it on you. Maybe looked at the ingredients."

"Wouldn't have helped," I say. "I don't know what did this."

"We gotta throw it out," he says.

"And wash the sheets," I say, defeated, as he motions for me to strip off my pants. I do, and watch him carefully slather the thick, white cream onto my thighs and over the points of my hips.

After it's all applied, we have to wait for it to dry before I can get my clothes back on. I look up to see that he's already been looking at me, watching my face. "What is it?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says, shaking his head and smiling softly. "Just thinking."

"About what?" I ask quietly.

He lets out a long breath. "You. And how crazy today was. And…" He takes a long pause. "How I wouldn't have wanted to spend it with anyone else."

I feel one side of my mouth pull up in a grin as I reach out for his hands. He gives them to me, and I hold tight. "You're the only person I'd ever let slather me up with ointment," I say. "You're the only person I'd ever want to do that for me."

He kisses my cheek; one of the only places on the front of my body that's unaffected. "And besides, being at the hospital on our day off isn't so bad when it's just this. Just us. Me and you."

I look steadily into his blue eyes and squeeze his hands. I nod slightly and then repeat his words back to him. "Me and you."


End file.
